Let the Games Begin
by SarahTheLion
Summary: Over the past seventy years, our world has changed from a brave country to one of 12 districts, ruled by a cruel Capitol who keeps us in line with a yearly slaughter of children. My name is Hinata, and I have just volunteered myself for The Hunger Games.
1. Before the Reaping

Hi everyone,

I guess you could call this my debut! 3 My name is Sarah, and not only am I excited to be here, but I'm excited to share this with you! I've been working on this for a while and I'm just glad I was brave enough to post it here. c: This is my first story, so please don't go overboard on the criticism. I do love comments and critiques, though, so please don't be afraid to post them!

Without further ado, I give you my story. :3

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The last thing that she wanted to happen today seemingly caused itself to happen anyway. It was pouring outside, making District 12 even gloomier than it usually was.

Rain is soothing, of course. It's nice just to cleanse the newest layers of dust off of the filthy streets, or to lull families to sleep by hitting their homes' shabby tin roofs after a long day. And rain would have been fine any other time of the day, but not when Hinata was about to go hunting for food, illegally, in the woods with Kiba.

There are three words that perfectly describe Kiba: strong, tall, and handsome. Hinata would never, ever think of telling her true feelings—it just wouldn't be appropriate—but he'd always been there for her family. Since his father and her mother perished in a tragic mine explosion… he'd been the one to dry her tears. Her death had affected Hinata's father in more ways than one, becoming cold-hearted to his older daughter, which had been his wife's favorite child.

"Father, I'm going out!" Hinata said, which needn't be said very loudly since their home was so pitifully small. He ignored her as usual, and instead, Hanabi replied to the insistent statement.

"But Hinata, it's raining!" Her sister had a way of making things more obvious. But Hinata smiled anyway, and her shadow smiled right back, although puzzled. "You can't leave—"

Before she could say more, the sixteen-year-old Hyuuga smiled again and pulled on a thin, worn coat, yanking the hood up before stepping out the door into the thundering wall of God's very tears.

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As usual, Kiba was waiting for her, just outside the fence that conveniently said "Restricted Area" upon a red-lettered sign.

"Hinata," he said gruffly, wiping the rainwater off of his brow. He was just showing off, because he broke into a grin and allowed a more casual stance as she drew nearer.

"Seen any game today?" Hinata shivered—why did the rain here have to be so cold—and produced a bow and arrow from beneath her mother's old worn coat.

He managed to shake his head 'no' as she plucked the wire on my bow, checking for looseness and deciding it would need to be made tighter later. But time was wasting—and their families' stomachs were only getting hollower. He pulled a knife, and she held tight to her weapon and pulled back a broken segment of fence to enter their private hunting zone.

Kiba closed the segment of fence behind them and quickly slid behind the trees, just in the rare case that someone happened to spot them. The woods were a ways away from the Seam, but there were always wanderers. Merchants, usually, waiting to either find lost merchandise or interesting food.

With a deep breath, Hinata focused her eyes on the trees ahead of her. Twenty, no thirty yards ahead, beyond the thickening wood, was a rabbit near its den. In a series of nods and stares, the message was communicated, and both teenagers snuck soundlessly towards their impending meal.

Ten yards… five yards… there. She could see through the tree in front of her, and just at the base of the tree disappeared Mr. Rabbit into his safe, cozy den. Her thoughts drifted to Hanabi. The one time she'd taken her bratty younger sister hunting, she cried and wailed over a bird she'd killed. _"But it has a family, Hinata-chan! You just murdered it!"_

"But I'm not murdering my family," hissed the Hyuuga, sneaking around the base of the tree. Just another moment and—just on cue, Kiba snaps a branch beneath his shoes and sends the terrified lagomorph fleeing for safety across the expanding forest.

"That wasn't part of the plan," remarked the girl, readjusting her hood with her free hand.

Kiba rolled his eyes and gave chase after it. He could just smell it. "I'm on it," he shouted behind him, probably scaring off whatever prey that hadn't just run.

Hinata busied herself looking for birds hiding in the branches above when Kiba returned, panting, and holding a limp brown rabbit by the throat. It was good-sized; if they were lucky, they could split it and feed their families a good meal. Maybe two, if the teens would skip out and let their families eat the food they so richly deserved.

"Good job," Hinata said finally, still scanning the heavens. A crow leaped into the air from one of the highest branches, and within seconds it was struck in the chest with an arrow.

Kiba whistled, and smiled smugly. "Nice shot, Sunflower."

"Dog boy," replied the dark-haired girl, retrieving her catch in mid-air. "You want rabbit or crow?"

He thought for a moment, pulling out a rust-colored kerchief out of his pocket and cleaning his knife free of blood while he thought about it. "I'm thinking crow would be good. It's getting late, though… we need to leave."

He was right—either the storm clouds were darkening, or evening was advancing. They hadn't caught much, and there certainly wasn't enough tonight to trade for a better meal. "Alright. Let's leave."

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On the walk home, the clouds cleared up. Their foodstuffs were shoved into their jackets and they hunched over so their sudden weight gain wasn't as noticeable. Were it more noticeable, there was always the possibility that someone would walk up to Hinata and ask who the father is. It had happened-and was a good joke between the two-but they didn't need any trouble like that before tomorrow. Trouble before the Reaping could be bad luck.

"Kiba," Hinata piped up at last, stopping in the street despite the chilling drizzle she wanted to escape. "It's true, isn't it?"

Ah, the stories he'd shared with her. His family had known a lot about this country before the great wars, before it was ruled tyrannically. Stories of lands called Konohagakure and Sunagakure and Iwagakure, though those countries didn't exist anymore, either. All Hinata had known for sure was that they all had been defeated by neighboring countries and had been turned into Panem, the modern-day, district-filled country.

Kiba glanced at the jagged expanse of a mountain that lay stretched before them in the only beam of sunlight. "Yeah. That used to be a really fantastic mountain. It was called Hokage Mountain if I remember correctly. The leaders of the village of long ago had their faces carved in it. It was really something, I heard."

Of course, he hadn't seen it. Neither had anyone living for the past 70 years… or even years before that. It was torn down almost a hundred years ago to make way for the "booming" coal mining industry… which was good at taking away parents and livelihoods.

He looked at her and got a distant look in his eyes. "I told you that this used to be the 'Hidden Village', right? This was there the head of the country was."

Hinata's mind whirred as she recalled, remembering to keep an arm beneath the hidden rabbit in her apparel. "Right. And how ironic is it that the capital of such a great nation is now the lowliest of a cowardly country?"

Kiba's face hardened into bitterness. "Real ironic." He looked again at the sky, the slow trickle of miners making their way home. "I have to go."

"Right. Same time tomorrow?" She remembered the rabbit she had to begin cooking for her family and the big day they had tomorrow.

Kiba laughed, almost sarcastically, and shook his head. "You don't know what tomorrow is, do you?" It took a few moments to realize that she actually didn't remember. "It's The Hunger Games. Reaping Day. We won't be able to meet tomorrow until after that stupid ceremony."

"May the odds _ever_ be in your favor," Hinata said in an overly cheery voice, imitating the television show host who spews the phrase each year, as she waved and smiled goodnight.

Little did she realize what tomorrow's sunrise would bring.


	2. I Give You Our Brave Tributes

Hi again, everyone! :3 I'm so glad for the follows! It makes me really glad that someone finds this a worthwhile read! Seriously, I'm gushing!

Quick note: I've integrated a few OCs into this chapter, one of which you might get to know a little better in later chapters! This would by Uzumaki Akihime, who was my first Naruto OC and has sort of evolved along with me. She'll be a minor character for now. As for the other character, well, there was no suitable choice for Effie in my crossover, so I improvised. You'll get to know her plenty, too. I hope you understand! heehee 3

Thanks for everything! I hope you enjoy chapter two of Let The Games Begin! Please don't forget to comment, because I want your feedback and to hear your lovely suggestions! 3 Blessings!

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Hiashi had Hanabi and Hinata put on their freshly-scrubbed Reaping Day dresses just before the sun crept up the horizon. As a finishing touch, the elder sister pulled the younger's hair back into a braid—simple and elegant. It was tied back with a red ribbon, the one that their mother had always liked to do Hanabi's hair with when she was a toddler.

Whenever Hanabi opened her mouth to complain, Hinata would give her a gentle glance and, if necessary, tap her with the back of her hand. The day that the Capitol harvested children for the ever-dreaded Hunger Games was a day that you best respect everyone. Tenses were high; and neither girl wanted their father to snap.

Breakfast consisted of chunks of bread, topped with crumbles of goat cheese and accompanied by milk that probably should've been drunk weeks ago. Hanabi spilled the milk on her dress and Hiashi nearly had an aneurism.

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After the near-implosion of Hiashi, and the terrible silence that had hung in the air for at least an hour, Hinata could not be more pleased to be leaving their meager little house for the Square, the specific place in District 12 where grave gatherings, disguised as grand celebrations, were held.

Hanabi, as her usual self, wasn't eager to go. If something went against what she wanted to do in particular, she believed the family should just stay home. Like everything revolved around her. "I don't want to go. Why did I have to turn twelve this year?"

"Why don't you stop complaining, before Father decides to really get angry this time," Hinata whispered back to Hanabi, keeping as strict a tone as her kindliness would allow. "It is your duty to the Capitol—your only duty," she continued. "My duty is to have my name registered twenty times and to get food for you and Father. All you have to do is be there with us."

Twenty was a number that Hinata had regretfully memorized. Each year, starting with age twelve, your name was entered in a glass bowl on Reaping Day due to how long you've been eligible for The Games. Someone who was fifteen would have their name in the bowl three times, as someone who was eighteen, six times. But that didn't count the extra entries, which were optional, and traded for food for your family. Hinata, being entered in the draw one more time each year, plus having three additional entries for a year's supply of food for each family member… had twenty full entries.

"At least you're not Kiba. He has, like, forty."

"Correction: thirty," Hinata replied, becoming more fed up with Hanabi's ever-increasing sass. Most day she could put up with it. But today, someone would be given a public death sentence to be carried out on live TV…

Hiashi ignored the both of them and kept walking to the Square.

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During the walk, they passed the bakery, where coveted bread was made. Of course, it wasn't cheap, but it was much less expensive than rat, or vegetables—other luxuries that residents from the Seam could not afford. Hinata thought nothing of the place as she walked by. The last glance over her shoulder, however, put her mind into gear.

Behind a freshly-polished window, two solemn, sunken-eyed blonde children worked hard to arrange a variety of fresh-baked breads and pastries on the display rack. One nudged the other, and the action was passed back and forth playfully until the bakery owner—a man with an immense amount of white hair, of which only some managed to be in a ponytail— had to separate them with the force of a rolling pin. She guessed their worn-out outfits would be worn as Reaping Day attire, and wondered why they hadn't left already.

It must have been time to enter reality once more. "Stop daydreaming!" Hanabi shouted at the Hyuuga who'd stopped in the street, eyes stuck to the window of the bakery as the children and owners exited. Hinata pulled at her dress and ran to catch up.

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The Square was crowded, silent, and altogether trying to avoid seeing the huge metal stage they'd set up just for Reaping Day. And there was Haruno Suisen, the popular, pink-haired reporter, attempting to shout up a cheery storm in the audience. Wrapped in a cacophony of different fabrics, colors, and textures—perhaps this was what the Capitol called style—she elegantly stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Happy Hunger Games," began the woman, honestly attempting to be sweet and gentle. Alive with movement, and as one whole, the crowd seemed to slink away from her ever so slightly. Suisen acknowledged this by gentling her voice. "Who's excited for The 74th Annual Hunger Games?" The crowd slowly came to life with uncertain, quiet conversations. No one was excited to see their children go. Perhaps the few childless adults were at least relieved they had no child to send away.

Sensing the imminent dread, she immediately got the ball rolling, as not to lose attention. With sparkling-white smile—was it forced?— and excellent poise, she stepped closer to the glass sphere to her right. Hinata thought it would be great to watch her fall over in those seven-inch heels. "Ladies first."

It took a moment for Suisen to grab the piece of paper that most interested her. She pulled her arm back gracefully towards her face, and with the most dazzling smile announced, "This year's female Tribute is Hyuuga Hanabi!"

Silence burst forward. Perhaps it's true you can hear a pin drop in situations like this. Hanabi, wearing a dreadful deer-in-the-headlights look, slowly worked her way out of the velvet roping and walked past the other young women.

Blood flashed across Hinata's vision, as she watched Hanabi get killed millions of times in seconds. Speared to death. Trampled. Stepping off of the plate too soon and exploding. Electrocution. Being torn apart. Drowned and bloated. Screaming in agony as another tribute rips her open and spills her guts. Years of watching the televised Games had only given her the ability to imagine more ways to die. All she could think about now was the body of her sister, scattered, broken, and being picked up by noisy hovercraft.

Her heart drummed at her ribs, made her see spots, made her start running, made her suspect that all in the Square could hear her terror. Hinata shoved her way through the crowd and pushed Hanabi to the side. The sudden commotion caused quite a ruckus, and a stream of Peacekeepers were making their way to her. "I volunteer as tribute!" screamed the girl frantically, tugging at the hands that restrained her. "I volunteer for Hanabi! I volunteer!"

Hinata thought that Hanabi was hauled back to her father by Kiba, but she wasn't certain. Suisen looked at the girl of sixteen—who was now slowly approaching the stage— and gave her an honest look, the hint of a surprised smile. "Please repeat that."

Now the microphone was in Hinata's face, and she reddened. "I v-volunteer in Hanabi's place." What had she just done? Saved her sister's life, sure, but what she just gotten herself into?

In an instant, Hinata found herself upon the stage, standing on legs that were feeble at the knees. There was no overly eccentric Capitol lingo used in what Suisen said next. "I've never seen a thing quite as brave before. What's your name?"

"H-Hyuuga Hinata," she stammered, stiff as a board and suddenly afraid she might keel over.

A hand with strangely manicured fingernails mounted on Hinata's shoulder. Suisen pulled her handheld microphone closer, as if to accentuate this particular moment in time, and closed her eyes thoughtfully. "Well, Hyuuga Hinata, that was a very beautiful thing. Who else agrees?" Instead of clapping, or cheering, like Suisen must have expected them to do, the gathering of District Twelve people touched the three adjacent fingers of their left hands to their lips and extended them forward. It wasn't just strangers—it was everyone. Including Hiashi, who must have already accepted his oldest daughter's death by the coldness in his face.

"Next, a brave young man." Suisen's palm departed from Hinata's shoulder and dove into the glass bowl on the left—the young men's names. It came up immediately, as if she'd known it was there all along. Suisen let out a dramatic gasp, placing her hand over her lips and then dropping it to her side. "Our male Tribute is Uzumaki Naruto!"

Something in the crowd's mindset let forth a terrified, resounding silence. Naruto was the orphan who worked at the bakery. Just a weakling, someone who could never bring District 12 to victory. In horror, Naruto pried himself from a younger, weaker-looking girl's grasp—the one Hinata saw earlier.

"Don't leave! I volunteer myself instead!"

Embarrassed, frightened, and angry, Naruto's face hardened. People were staring. He also had to make his way to the stage, and very well couldn't with her latched to his arm. In an instigated reaction, he smacked her in the face. The younger was so shocked she stopped her commotion, and the boy stiffly made his way to the stage.

Some old man in the crowd was really pleased. "They'll die as soon as the Games start!"

"Thank you for your kind words," snarled the pink-headed announcer as she patted Naruto on the back. With each pat he jolted, cringing a bit more, until he froze in a hunched over position and stared at the crowd like a frightened kitten. Hinata hoped that the others chosen for the Games this year would be weaklings.

"I give you the brave Tributes of the 74th Hunger Games!"

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One hour to visit with friends and family wasn't quite enough. Even when it had begun, Hinata found herself wishing for more, more, more. Hanabi was crying and Hiashi had become as cold as when her mother had died. Neither of them talked very much, but her younger sister literally had to be pried from her side. Once she was taken away, her wails could be heard throughout the town.

Kiba came, acknowledged that they would not be meeting at the usual time in the woods, and wished her luck with a hug and a brief, uncertainly planted kiss. Hinata's mind instantly entered a fog, and would have remained there until death, when she walked in.

Perhaps she was the spinning image of her mother. A lacy white dress she had worn the year prior. Pink hair, bubbly attitude, and made mostly of legs that looked like they should tangle when she took steps in her fancy feels. "Hello Hinata," said the girl.

"Hello, Sakura," she replied, as steadily as her taxed vocal chords would allow. The bubbly pink-headed girl was unfastening something shiny from the front of her shirt and, in the next second, fastening it to Hinata's.

"The pin you like so much," she said sweetly, straightening it. "Don't you want to represent District 12 in the arena?" Hinata nodded slowly, processing things. "Then, won't you wear it for me?"

The pin was neatly fastened over her heart. "It's b-beautiful. Thanks."

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Nighttime hit while the terrified tributes were on a fast-speeding train, headed straight for the Capitol. No-one in District 12 was quite certain where the Capitol lay; it seemed to be a mystery or a well-kept secret. Or perhaps they didn't wish to speak of it—and who could blame them? It was a horrible place of waste, of gossip, of horrible sins and of evils unspeakable. One of them being the dreaded Games.

Hinata didn't even touch her dinner. She merely cut her food into chunks and shifted its position on the fine china. The day… oh, today had to be a nightmare. She was just overly strung out about the Games, and she'd wake up in the small room she shared with Hanabi with a furry, hideous cat in her face. She'd wake up soon—this couldn't be real!

Instead of dreaming, she watched Naruto stuff his face with delicacies. Watched him gag a few times and watched him still continue eating.

"Are you ever going to stop?" she finally gasped out.

The teenager glared at her from across the table and sighed. Mouth full, he slouched over and rested his chin on his hands. "You ha a prom wit dis?"

"Yes," Hinata pushed the thought of chewed food spewing everywhere aside. She felt guilty for telling him to stop eating when she remembered his condition in the bakery window. But he must eat well, making baked goods for a living.

"So you must work at the Bakery." He swallowed, and didn't pick his fork back up. Good. "That time when you gave me bread… I never remembered to thank you until I heard your name drawn."

She played with her fingers. "Oh, you're the girl I threw loaves at?" The tone of his voice implied he had known all along. He wasn't fooling anyone, especially Suisen, who listened in to the conversation with a distant smile. "Ha-ha, yeah, well, you looked hungry. And I have bad aim."

She smiled at him, for the first time. It faded quickly. "Nice way of saying goodbye to that girl today."

He groaned nervously, recalling the act he obviously regretted. "My sister. I didn't want her to cry on me and I didn't know what to do."

"I didn't want my sister to cry on me, either," Hinata choked out, closing her eyes before the tears could escape. Whatever was left of her trembling voice escaped and she felt it best not to speak anymore. Not that it mattered, since Suisen decided to put on a video containing the other 22 Tributes on the dining room television. From what they had briefly seen, District Two had a monster of a boy, half as wide as he was tall, named Chouji. District Three had a sly-looking girl. It wasn't of their interest to watch who might kill them at the moment.

A minute or two passed. Naruto wiped his mouth clean with a cloth napkin and Hinata noticed, for the first time, the strange markings that adorned his cheeks. When he talked or chewed, it almost appeared that they twitched. Whiskers? "Akihime. I think she's… yeah, she's fourteen. She gets on my nerves," said Naruto sheepishly.

"Hanabi. She's twelve. I do everything to keep her safe—" And for the first time, Hinata realized that neither of them would see their families again.

The polite chatter was apparently like nails on a chalkboard to Suisen. "Aren't you watching? These are your competitors!" squealed the woman. "If one of you wants to be Victor, it's important that you watch." And so, the Tributes closed their mouths to absorb information on their fellow rivals.


	3. Don't Drink and Mentor

Hi everyone! :3 I know this chapter has an odd name; it just sort of stuck. Heehee! Thanks for all the subscriptions and feedback! I get those emailed to my phone, so I enjoy seeing them as soon as they pop up (and checking them at school especially, you guys provide great distractions from boring work! jk!). I appreciate your faithfulness in reviewing and reading, and I hope you enjoy chapter three!

Sarah c:

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When morning broke, a startling pounding occurred at Hinata's bedroom door. The girl nearly leaped out of her skin, sitting upright and tossing the covers aside to defend herself from an oncoming attack. Instead of a Tribute trying to murder her, it was only Suisen. "Good morning, Tributes!" She pounded some more, sounding kindly subdued but cheerful. "It's a big day and you don't want to miss it!" Another strange sound arose farther down the hall, and it took a few seconds to realize that this was Naruto noisily waking up after she'd knocked on his door.

At the dining car, Hinata found herself only thankful for the hot morning meal, as Suisen was chatting endlessly about the schedule and the exciting memories to come, and Naruto was telling her to shut up under his breath. While these goings-on continued, in walked a man she vaguely remembered for stumbling around drunk on Reaping Day.

"This is Hatake Kakashi," beamed Suisen. She directed her attention towards both Naruto and Hinata, taking a calm breath. "You, well, you might recognize him. I know you two didn't meet him properly, so pay attention—this is your mentor for the Games!"

Hatake Kakashi is none other than the drunkard who won the games—one of the only District 12 residents to ever have won— and who also hasn't done anything but drink away the pain since. Naruto shook his hand at once, eager to have someone tell him what to do, apparently, but Hinata wasn't as swiftly convinced to trust him. Suddenly the thought of living in a bottle stirred up fears of what, exactly, could be lurking in the Arena. The blonde boy shuddered from across the table.

The man's face mask might have been unnerving, but his covered eye was more so, and his one exposed eye was boring holes into Hinata's white eyes. She couldn't be that interesting. He wasn't looking her over to praise her abilities, or to tell her what her chance of survival was. He was hammered. This was further confirmed when he sloshed his drink around, mumbling things about someone guzzling it while he wasn't looking.

In the Arena with a drunken mentor… the thought churned what meager amounts of food Hinata had digested. "You're drunk. You've been drunk all your life, haven't you?" she questioned softly. Naruto looked up. Her softness did not mask her underlying rage. To him, she was more terrifying calm than she would ever be whilst angry and wielding a weapon.

"Maybe it's because of…" Naruto silenced himself as he saw the intensity increase to a crescendo.

Kakashi pulled up his peculiar face mask even higher and groaned. "Got a problem?" He slugged down more from his bottle and looked back at her tauntingly—why, he probably had a smug smile on his covered lips. The covered lips that… were covered by the mask he was _drinking_ through. Certainly that was holding captive many of the beer fumes that were choking the air. Before he could kick the bottle back again to forget her frustrated expression, Hinata grabbed the bottle from Kakashi and slammed it against the wall.

Brown shards of glass flew everywhere, some even daring to land next to Suisen's plate, which caused her to squeal. But Kakashi didn't try to stop her until she grasped at his mask and threatened to rip it off of his face."You'll kill us if you don't stop!" Hinata pleaded, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking them violently.

Suisen, in shock, covered her mouth. Even she had nothing immediately to say about Hinata's actions. The drunk's hand now clutched at Hinata's wrist. "I can snap your wrist in two." To prove it, he tightened his fingers, and was probably about to do it anyway before Naruto stood up from his chair and shoved the man back. There went his eagerness to train with Kakashi.

"That—is an example of bad manners. Hinata, that was uncalled for. Your behavior is disrespectful to both my love of manners and to Kakashi." But the drunkard had already left the car, travelling to his own, where one could hear the door slam from outside the train. "And Naruto, sit back down. You two have no business angering your mentor. He's your _lifeline_," said Suisen in a pleading tone, dropping back to sincerity rather than her usual uppity-esque attitude. "Without him, you're walking corpses already."

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The next thing they realized, the train was slowing down and pulling into a grand, glimmering station that was bathed in gold. Golden stairs, golden statues, golden pillars. There were probably many other golden-colored things, but a crowd thousands of people thick writhed with movement, craning to see through the train windows and catch a first glimpse at District 12's Tributes.

The affect this had on everyone was instantaneous. Suisen immediately hastened to her train car, giving an excited squeal about adjusting her hair and makeup. When the room was empty—it had just been the three of them—the Tributes became, more or less, excited.

"We're at the Capitol!" Naruto shouted, gaping out the side window in wonder. He clapped his hands and shoved his face as close to the glass as possible, absorbing the sights and the fanciful, absurd flock of humans surrounding a barricade by the tracks. The baker orphan, the frightened teenager on stage after being taken as Tribute, has become a child.

Hinata accepted this as her time to gather pieces of what horrors await. One peek out the window confirmed that she is no longer within the safe confines of a forested, cloaked district as 12. She has been transported to that place she only sees on television. That city everyone secretly fears, secretly dreams about at night and wonder what really goes on there. And instead of being able to run away, slip under a gate and escape for a few hours, she will have to confront crowds, cameras, and Capitol celebrities.

When Hinata finally unglued herself from the pane, Kakashi is standing behind her, arms crossed but no bottle in sight. What an improvement. "I see you've stopped drinking," Hinata said, more firmly than before.

"Hm. We'll have to wait and see, now won't we?" replied the silver-haired man sarcastically.

"Hey, Kakashi," Naruto asked, still waving to the crowd as the train rolled to a stop, "what should we expect when we get out of the train? Suisen said something about—"

"Yeah, your stylists." Kakashi sat down in a velvet-padded chair, crossing his legs and leaning back to his utmost comfort. Naruto and Hinata followed his lead and sat at their own respective chairs, each facing him. "Today, you'll be travelling to the center of the Capitol. That's where you'll meet your stylists. You'll be waxed, buffed, polished, and bathed, probably until you bleed. Any questions?" Neither spoke forth. "Oh. One last… tidbit. You might want to be pretty comfortable being naked around strangers."

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Ever since Kakashi had shared his advice about the initial makeover, Hinata was tense as one of those golden statues in the train station. Suisen tried to mollify her after they'd all entered the car, but words did nothing. Not even the re-telling of excellent experiences with stylists did the trick. It was, strangely enough to Haruno Suisen, frightening for a girl who's never had a makeover in her life to be partially altered by strangers. Particularly the nude part. Naruto, although less stressed, was doubting that he needed makeup and costume.

"Hey, Hinata," Naruto said when things had gotten painstakingly quiet. "I'm sure it won't be that bad."

Running a hand through her tangled dark hair, she shrugged and showed a ghost of a smile. "I hope not." But no further words were exchanged.

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Upon arrival to yet another extravagant building, which looked more like some variety of modern mansion, they were shooed out of the car and separated. Naruto, oozing with confidence, was sent with fancy attendants to meet his stylist. Suisen chose to accompany Hinata out of the kindness of her oversized heart.

They were ushered into an immaculate glass elevator. "This place is amazing," whispered Hinata, watching the sights about her zoom soundlessly out of sight. "The elevators in Twelve… they squeal and shudder as they're lowered. These are so quiet." The pink-haired woman only smiled, placing a hand on the railing.

"Yes, they worked for years to get it that quiet. It must have been some top secret engineering, because only the Capitol and Districts One and Two have elevators like this." Of all things, Suisen was surprised that so far in the day, the elevator had been the most impressing thing to Hinata. But at least she was enjoying her short time in the Capitol.

All at once, the elevator came to a controlled stop, and the fancily engraved glass doors receded into the walls. They'd arrived on the top floor, the 13th floor, which the Hyuuga couldn't find more ironic. Unlucky 13. "It's because they didn't want loads of traffic on the main floor. It was just much more convenient to assign each District to their own makeover floor."

Both women walked out and down the main hall, red and gold carpeted and smelling like a fresh spring meadow. A door, labeled "Hyuuga, Hinata, 12" was pushed open, and that's when things went relatively downhill.

Immediately after Hinata has been ushered into a fancy, salon-type room—where she would receive her makeover and be made up for the Tribute Parade this evening— a group of estranged people waltzed in, swinging hips and sporting freaky Capitol makeovers of choice. And as Suisen began to introduce them, Hinata regretfully learned that these odd people were her stylists. Only, the Head Stylist she would meet later.

"Now, here they are!" Suisen sang to the girl who was most definitely not interested in a makeover by these people. She stepped gracefully towards the colorful trio, racking her brain for words. "This is—" Apparently, she had not learned their names.

She gestured to the team who had entered—a blue-haired, curvy woman, a red-haired man with many piercings, and a man with deep blue skin. Hinata's first reaction was to run away, but that wouldn't do. Suisen would have her head before that option was allowed. Following some confused whispers, the team decided to introduce themselves.

"Pein," grunted the red-haired man, expressionlessly.

"Kisame," said the blue-skinned man as he blew a kiss toward the now unnerved Hyuuga. His smile was unsettling—sharp, pointed teeth everywhere. Did he intend on fully becoming a shark?

Only did the last stylist seem both trustworthy and likeable. "Hello, I'm Konan," purred the blue-headed woman with a smile. "You'll have to excuse the men. They're not as good with words as I am."

"W-who are Naruto's stylists—"

Suisen giggled, covering her mouth. "Not to worry! Not like it's any of your business, but they're good! Personally, I think yours are better." With a high-pitched squeal and a flip of pink hair, the reporter fluttered off with a dramatic, "Ta, ta!"

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A thick quiet burst forward. When she had to remove her clothing, Hinata froze and flushed, but the stylists were at least putting forth some effort to be comforting. Konan puckered her lips, closely inspecting Hinata's average face. She appeared to be in her twenties, and was beautiful, really, but her colors in makeup were too strong for most anyone's taste.

"Since I'm the one with the hair—" here she paused to tease her blue locks and smile—"I'm in charge of your hair. Trimming, waxing, and everything else. My friends Pein and Kisame are in charge of nails and makeup, respectively, but they do a few odd jobs here and there." When their names were mentioned, the men pretended they were doing something useful, like searching for nail clippers.

Here the accidental Tribute was flustered. "Them?"

Konan blinked those brown eyes, whipping out a pair of tweezers. "Yes, silly, them. They're only the best." Playing with Hinata's hair, examining her eyebrows, she huffed an agitated sigh. "Hmph. Let the _real_ Games begin."

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Hours of endless torture finally came to an end. Hinata was certain that if she heard that "beauty is pain" one more time, she would snap; though she doubted if she had the courage to do anything at this point. Even if she had her bow in her possession, would she really shoot at the people making her pretty? Probably not. But after finishing their duties, Konan, Pein, and Kisame suddenly filed out of the room, as if hearing something her ears could not perceive, and left her alone. That's when he walked in.

He was tall, handsome, and somewhat flamboyant. Perhaps his most striking feature was the silky blonde ponytail he sported atop his head.

"Hinata?" She nodded shyly, drinking him in. Taking this as his queue to stand beside where she lay dressed in a robe, he grinned, offering a hand with an unnatural crease-mark down the middle, and helped her sit upright. "I'm Deidara, hmm." In less than ten seconds Hinata had her hand and both cheeks kissed, much to her distaste. "I'm your head stylist for the Games."

Being less freaky than his assistants, Hinata found him to be a welcome sight to sore body and eyes. "Pleased to meet you," she said softly, desperately trying not to wipe off his kisses. "I heard you'll make me pretty."

Here the man gasped, covering his mouth politely as she'd seen Suisen do a million times already. "Oh, but you're already pretty, hmm!" said Deidara swiftly, tossing her freshly polished hair over her smooth shoulder. His fingers were alive with thought, quivering, delicately adjusting makeup here and pulling hair back there. "I'm just here to help the world notice that. If you know what I mean!"

"O-of course," replied Hinata. But Deidara seemed not to notice, too busy inspecting her and approving of the stylists' work and fetching pieces of an elaborate costume that Hinata could not identify.

"I do have one concern," he asked somewhat seriously, managing a frown on his pretty face. Eyes alight with mischief, he held up a match. "Are you afraid of fire?"


	4. Parading the Streets of the Capitol

Hello, Fanfiction lovers! My apologies this chapter installment took so long- I had it mostly written out, but I had to add to it and I haven't had much time to work on it as of late. I'm getting ready for graduation, and I'm absolutely psyched about it (in both good and bad ways, heehee).

Something I seemed to have forgotten to share: Haruno Suisen's name means "Respect". It seemed fitting for one who escorts Tributes to the Capitol, only to watch most of them die.

I also should add that I do not own Naruto, or The Hunger Games! ;u; I only own Suisen and Akihime (thus far).

Thank you for the reviews; please don't forget to review often! It's what keeps me going. Signed reviews are extra helpful because then I can read and review your stories, too. c: I only feel this is fair, since you did take the time to read my work!

Enjoy!

Sarah the Lion (rawr)

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Deidara's final question had proven to be one of legitimacy. This wasn't quite realized until Hinata had walked with her stylist to an enormous, garage-like room. The scent was impacting, like that of a stable that had been inefficiently scrubbed with citrus. Lined up in order from One to Twelve, standing still and proud, were fancy carts. Here, the chariots connected to majestic horses, each hinted at which District it might pull. For District Four, sea creatures bejeweled the side of a net-covered chariot. Exotic folds of silk enveloped what must be District Eight's. And milling around by their respective stations, adding finishing touches to their costumes or making encouraging small-talk were the head stylists, with Tributes of every District.

The Hyuuga's breath escaped her. While some costumes were elaborate and tasteful, others seemed to be assembled and thrown on at the very last minute; namely Districts Five, Nine, and Three.

"The grain costume is _so_ thirty years ago," remarked Deidara flippantly as he continued walking down the line. "Nine's stylists need to take the hint, and come up with something… more explosive." Both his teasing giggle and choice of words further unnerved Hinata. The same last-minute treatment was apparently applied to District Three's chariot. And possibly even the one they walked to now: adorned with shining metal flames and uninteresting lumps that must be coal.

"Your chariot awaits," said Deidara with an overly-dramatic hair flip. Hinata replied with silence, slowly approaching the massive charcoal equines that regarded her with a distant respect. They didn't trample her when she ran her palm across them. "They're well-trained. I don't think they'll harm you, hmm." After rubbing one's velvet nose, Hinata ran a hand along the wheeled chariot.

Behind their mode of transportation, a red-cheeked Naruto waited with a fresh-faced woman that must be his stylist. At the sight of Hinata, he opened his mouth and started spewing out the day's events. His stylists, like hers, were probably absolute lunatics. He notably added that they'd tried to scrub off the marks on his face. "So they're using pumice stones, or whatever the heck they called 'em, on my face. I actually started bleeding! Then Temari came in and told them to leave my marks alone. Those guys had no idea what they were doing, 'ttebayo."

Temari. This must be the name of his stylist, this young woman with multiple ponytails. She'd never heard of her before—perhaps, like Deidara, Temari was new to the Games and was assigned the classic beginner stylist's District.

"Dattebayo? Isn't that a bit childish for us District Twelve Tributes?" Hinata wondered, watching the boy shrug it off shyly. "Mine were kind, but they were strange. I wonder where the Capitol came up with its horrendous ideas of fashion—"

A sharp 'AHEM!' occurred behind the pair. They whirled around to see Deidara, arms lackadaisically crossed, looking up into the ceiling. "I take offense, hmm! My outfits aren't as tacky as Konan's." He laughed—he really was a kind person—and shook his head to dismiss his playful comment. "And I hate to interrupt you two, hmm, but you should probably stand on the chariot before they start the parade. You wouldn't want it to leave without you!"

Seamlessly, and quite out of nowhere, Temari leaped into the conversation. "When I was small, I remember watching District Three miss their chariot on television. It was such an embarrassment to their District, that for the next five years, they sent their Tributes here hours earlier than the rest in order to go over the importance of actually standing on the chariot." Her voice was dry, but still a refreshing change to the humdrum that lurked over the room.

Here Deidara snickered. "They still get here earlier than everyone. Probably because of their awful hair… though their outfits could be enviable, if they were bronze-colored."

The pair suddenly snapped back to reality when a loudspeaker overhead announced a five-minute warning. Echoing from somewhere in the room was an agitated horse's snort. When the Head Stylists finally turned toward their dolled-up Tributes, Hinata and Naruto had already been standing atop the chariot's sturdy platform for a few minutes.

"It's hard to balance in these shoes," Hinata remarked. Deidara had given her a slight platform to boost her height, make her appear taller and hopefully, in turn, more threatening. But even he had his doubts about Hinata being a feared opponent, which he did his best to subdue.

"Oh, it's nothing compared to these, hmm." When he kicked up his heel for all to see, it seemed no wonder that yes, even men in the Capitol wear high shoes. "At least you're not wearing heels. Some of the other Tributes have to practice for days to stand in them on the chariots."

Naruto smirked, nudging Hinata's shoulder in a manner that made her jump. "Guess you're luckier than you thought!"

Momentarily disgusted, she stepped away from the blonde boy. "But you're wearing regular shoes," pointed out the girl, "which makes the situation wholly unfair." Then the Tributes wrinkled their noses, delving deeper into choppy, nervous conversation. The parade would start at any moment. There was also an odd smell, like something burning...

A quick peek over her shoulder, and Hinata understood. Though she'd forgotten entirely about the fire, she had no problem with it. But from what Temari seemed to be quietly communicating to Deidara, Naruto was entirely displeased with the whole idea.

Just before the lit match met the fabric of his jumpsuit, he panicked.

Though he was determined to flee the chariot, Hinata grabbed a hold of his collar and clutched the fabric for dear life. Somehow, he was stronger than she'd imagined. "Hope you're not afraid of fire? Puh!" cried Naruto, who was restrained by the two blonde stylists from removing his all-black jumpsuit. "You can't light me on fire!"

"Yes we can!" snarled Temari in a hushed manner, succeeding in igniting him and giving him an incredibly stern look. "You need to make a good impression on these people. I suggest, if you want to live, that you behave like you do." While Naruto had thrown a fit about his cape being lit, Hinata allowed hers to be done peaceably.

Never had Hinata seen Naruto shut up so quickly. A mirror that Temari had threatened to smack him with was now being used to practice smiles. Surely, he wasn't an opponent to be feared, as Temari had tried to make him out to be with this costume.

Now Hinata was ashamed she had to wear the ebony, form-fitting outfit that matched his. Partly, because he was being so obnoxious. Another contributing factor was that every eye in the Capitol would catch a glance of them. She'd never been the center of attention before and had never planned to be.

A soft bell sounded off somewhere in the ceiling, and the furthest-most chariot—District One—lurched forward without warning. A subtle chemical smell, probably what nourished the harmless flames, hit their noses. In a last-resort move, Hinata gave Naruto a whisper of a lecture. "Please don't embarrass District Twelve tonight. Our stylists picked the outfits out, so they have to be safe. Just don't… don't do anything stupid."

Is this how she saw the boy with the bread, the boy who had saved her family from starving to death? As only a stupid child? Regret snapped its jaws, and while Hinata wished she could retract her statement, she knew she could not.

He brushed off her statement in a moment of pure relief. "Sure." Finally calmed down, Naruto stepped closer to Hinata on the platform and looked at her curly up-do. "He put your hair up so it wouldn't be singed. But… it looks good on you." His attempt to be polite was beyond cheesy.

For whatever reason, Hinata felt her face illuminate. Kiba usually never complimented her looks, only her aim and form on her archery. But she absolutely did not like Naruto. What he had done in the past was commendable, but that would not make up for the fact that they were in these Games together…

When Deidara gave a thumbs-up to the pair and their nervous, accidental flirting, that's when Hinata broke her attention to the chariots ahead of them. Five had already begun to move. No, six. "You don't have to do that," she finally whispered in reply.

Puzzlement danced in Naruto's baby blue eyes, and his eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to understand. Seven chariots had exited the building and had begun their journey down the grand cobblestone, between the rows of screaming Capitol crowds. "Don't have to do what?" he asked. Now, eight. To the sound of horses' hooves clapping the ground, they had been moving at a slow and steady pace for a few moments now.

"Be kind to me. The bread was enough. You saved my life, and now we're destined enemies." Her voice had squeaked near the end of her sentence, and she bit her lip. The disdain on Naruto's face tried to disprove her, but their rushed conversation was interrupted.

Yelling, now far behind them, caused the two to look back. There were Temari and Deidara—what were they doing? Realization, which had slowly sunk in for Hyuuga Hinata, hit her between the eyes and somewhere deep within the pit of her stomach. The stylists stood close together, smiling dazzlingly, and linked by their hands.

Naruto didn't question. In fact, he was probably excited to obey orders. He gently took Hinata's hand, caressing it in his own awkwardly, and squeezed it. Hinata held his band tightly in return. Sure, he was being polite and following Temari's suggestion. However—none of the other pairs of Tributes were holding hands or even acknowledging the other.

This would go far. Really Naruto could reply to Hinata's earlier statement, though, the masterfully-designed iron gates before them creaked open, and the District 12 pair was staring, in glorious deer-in-the-headlights fashion, into the vast, crowded street.

The Capitol citizens were sitting in stands on either side of the cobblestone road. No sooner did they leave the building that they noticed almost every pair of eyes was locked on them. Hands covered gaping mouths. Cheers emanated from every direction, rattling their eardrums. Some of those cheers included their names. Whether everyone else had been an absolute bore, or they were actually the most dazzling team to have entered in twenty years remained a mystery; the only important they had captured the attention of the arena, and just as certainly, that of the world. This was probably proper, according to Suisen and Kakashi, to jostle up good sponsors.

Until they saw themselves on the jumbotron-like screens, neither realized how pitiful and frightened they looked. The flames were a hit with the crowd, but it was not until they smiled did the crowd really explode with screams. Were they not parading away to their deaths, it would have been a very joyous and exhilarating time… but Hinata and Naruto found that the longer they travelled in the chariot, the more excited they became.

Hinata's trembling had stopped when she held tight to Naruto's hand and waved her free hand, choosing specific Capitol citizens to give her attention to. Naruto did the same, only with smiles and shy winks. It must have been wonderful, because people seemed to shove each other out of the way to be the center of their affections. Somewhere during the parade, their raised their conjoined hands and treated their closeness as a trophy. The Capitol citizens and screens, too, treasured their odd gesture of friendship.

After a while, the ride stopped at the City Circle, where the other chariots had recently halted as well. Many of the Tributes—particularly those in fanciful costumes or from privileged districts—shot nasty looks to the illuminated Twelve tributes. They accused the flames of being distracting, their "team player" attitude appalling, and so on. But what the other teenagers found despicable, the Capitol found delightful.

A lone podium stood empty in front of the horses and carts and children. Everyone knew that the lavish mansion in the distance beyond it was where the President lived. But though he strongly advocated the Games and was such a part of the planning for them, he was never to be seen at an opening ceremony. In fact, most of Panem's denizens had never heard his voice, seen a picture of him, or knew of his true name.

This had been rumored to be a tactic for keeping the Districts in line—that there was a threatening, mysterious man in office whom not one knew the power or potential of. This was not a rumor. In fact, it worked a little too well. For Hinata knew for a fact that those serious law-breakers in District Twelve, those who had gone to meet with the President, had never been heard from again.

The silence was deafening. Nervous murmurs spread from chariot to chariot, that the President might finally reveal himself before next year's 75th annual Hunger Games. A figure walked up to the podium, and someone cried, "The President!" But this was false. Instead of him, up walked his right-hand man, another man whom no-one knew the real name of. They just referred to him as "Vice".

The Vice President had ashy brown skin. Gripping his hands to the sides of the podium, he pasted on his best smile—blatantly forced— and stiffened his shoulders to match the harsh creases in his suit's sleeves. His speech was not rushed—it was simply short and to the point.

"Greetings, citizens of the Capitol, and Tributes. This is the start of your training for the Games. You'll be directed to your rooms at the Training Center immediately, where you'll begin your official combat training in the morning. May the odds be ever in your favor. Goodnight."

Some horses pawed at the ground, and some snorted; but all followed a bend in the road that drug the twenty-four Tributes to the towering Training Center.


End file.
